


Entertaining Angels

by silenceofthesea



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceofthesea/pseuds/silenceofthesea
Summary: Harry and Kathryn search for a Christmas miracle.





	Entertaining Angels

**Author's Note:**

> My grateful thanks to Caladenia for the festive beta.

Christmas Eve 2377. One minute to midnight and the chime of the ready room door jerks Kathryn Janeway’s fingertips from her temple. The voice that carries through the air is rough.

“Come.”

With Chakotay on a trade mission to the Yirevin System accompanied by Wildman and Torres, double and even triple shifts have become the norm. Crew evaluations have further increased her workload, coupled with every head of department’s decision to submit a deluge of requisition requests, ranging from cargo storage containers to plasma manifold injectors and just before the upcoming Christmas celebration to boot. As she adds her signature to yet another PADD, Harry stops smartly at her desk. She only just manages to stifle a yawn.

“Anything to report, Mr Kim?”

Back impossibly straight, Harry clasps his hands. “All ship’s systems are functioning within normal parameters, Captain. I’ve had repair crews assess the damage to the shuttle bay door and,” his tone drops to become almost conspiratorial, “the Doctor has asked me to remind you about his choral recital.”

Janeway doesn’t look up, so Harry offers a clarification. “He’s booked Holodeck Two from seventeen hundred hours.”

Shoulders bent low, the Captain absentmindedly slides the PADD onto an already teetering pile. With a clatter, the stack topples, sending the entirety over the edge of the desk. In a quick, if inelegant lunge, Harry manages to catch all but one. As he straightens with the errant PADD in hand, Janeway is pushing others and coffee cups asunder in an attempt to make space. Looking up with a grateful nod affords Harry a closer look at his Captain. A starkly pale complexion emphasises bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes. One hand tugs at the side of her neck to ease tight muscles, the other pushing away stray locks of hair from her forehead.

“Who’s relieving you?” she asks.

Eyeing the laden desk and the exhausted woman opposite him, Harry stacks the PADDS into two neat, equal piles. 

“Lt Commander Tuvok. But if you’ve no objections Captain, I’d like to stay on.”

Flicking upwards, Janeway’s eyes narrow as he indicates the PADD sat atop the pile. 

Commander Chakotay and I were working on this Engineering crew roster. With your permission, I’d appreciate the chance to complete it.”

Pressing her fingertips together, the captain leans back in her chair. Harry doesn’t say anything further, keeping his eyes trained forward until Janeway’s shoulders drop a fraction and the creases around her mouth soften. Sensing a victory, he tucks the PADD under one arm, before scooping up two handfuls of empty mugs. Stood at the replicator, he glances discretely back in her direction. Janeway’s eyes are closing, one thumb at her temple. His fingers hover over an analgesic, but he settles for more coffee. With a cautious smile, he places the drink on the desk.

“Why don’t you give me five minutes to find the finished draft?” he says.

Janeway wraps her hands around the steaming mug, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. 

“Very well, Mr Kim. I’m keen to see what else the Commander has taught you.”

Keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the data, Harry avoids her stare.

=/\=

“Captain to the Bridge.”

Tuvok’s words have Janeway moving at a quick march, Harry hot on her heels.

“Report.”

“We have received a distress call from the shuttle. Lieutenant Torres reports that Commander Chakotay is in urgent need of medical assistance.”

Janeway frowns. “You’ve laid in an intercept course?”

Tuvok nods. “Yes, Captain.”

“Lieutenant Paris, warp nine. Engage. Beam the Commander directly to sickbay as soon as we’re in range.”

By the time Janeway reaches deck five, a snaking line of crewmen stretches almost back to the turbolift. Circumventing the queue, she meets the Doctor at its head waving an unfamiliar probe at Ayala’s head.

“Captain, as you can see, I’m rather busy at the moment. In fact, I could do with Lieutenant Paris’ assistance.”

Her gaze sweeping the room, Janeway nods her ascent, seeking out the prone form of her First Officer. Chakotay is deeply unconscious. His skin is tight and sallow, deepened to an almost amber jaundice and stretched over newly protruding cheekbones. His parted lips are cracked and the hand she reaches for is mottled and alarmingly cold. As Tom hurries through the door, she beckons the Doctor.

“What’s his condition?”

Much like an approaching storm, the EMH’s countenance darkens. “Captain, I’ll be blunt. The Commander has been infected with a highly aggressive viral agent. The Yirevin authorities offered prompt medical assistance, but to no avail. Lieutenant Torres had no option other than to hope he would survive the journey back to Voyager.” A glance at the flashing panel and his frown intensifies. “The infection hasn’t responded to any of the treatments in the ship’s medical database. Its primary target, his liver, has been destroyed.”

Janeway’s hand slides onto her hip. “If we knew more about the agent would it help? We could return to the Yirevin system.”

A shake of the head. “I’m afraid we don’t have the time. The Commander’s condition has deteriorated rapidly since coming aboard. We are now looking at multiple organ failure.”

Janeway starts to pace. “What about a liver transplant?”

The Doctor huffs. “That was one for the first possibilities I explored, Captain. Unfortunately, the Commander has a rare blood type. Coupled with his genetic profile, it is extremely unlikely that we will find a close enough tissue match. As you can see, I’m in the process of testing the last of the crew.”

“Can you use a replicated organ?”

The Doctor turns, his expression filling with a regret that stops her mid-stride. He places a hand at her elbow, steering her away from the bed. 

“Without a cure for the virus and with his current heightened immune response, his body will instantly reject the artificial organ. It will only prolong his suffering.”

Within sight of the now dwindling line of her crew, Janeway doesn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry.” He says again as she turns away, brushing a hand across her eyes.

“I suggest you stay, Captain. I’ll erect a privacy screen. The senior staff will want to say goodbye.”

=/\=  


“Captain?”

Kathryn’s sidelong glance reveals the last and youngest of her bridge crew, hovering. Harry’s eyes fall to Chakotay’s limp, cool hand encased in hers and he starts to stammer. 

“I…. I wanted to-”

Silencing his spluttering with a look indicating her displeasure at the interruption, Kathryn struggles to keep her tone on the edge of civility. 

“Mr Kim?”

A shaky breath. “My mom, when someone was really sick… she used to place an angel beside their bed and-”

Face grave, he steps forward, pressing a small, solid object into her palm. No more than four centimetres in height, wingtips of rose gold, the serene face of the angel gazes heavenward. Janeway stares vacantly at the figure in her grasp. “I’m afraid… I... don’t believe in-” She starts to say, but before she can finish, a sound she doesn’t anticipate and apparently can’t halt emanates from within her chest. Between a sob and a groan, it forces its way past her constricted larynx and into the space between the two. Tipping forward, her forehead coming to rest on the edge of the bed, she stifles the distress, raising a tightly balled fist to her lips.

Awkwardly, Harry shifts his feet. “Neither do I, really. But I thought- ”

Clenching her jaw, Janeway quells a series of hitching breaths. The silence now only punctuated by the Commander’s occasional rasping, Harry approaches, a tentative hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Do you need anything? Would you like me to stay?”

She straightens, forcing his hand to fall away.

“No. Go enjoy the party.”

Harry doesn’t move. “We cancelled it. Everyone is so worried, I..”

Janeway’s eyes close. “Ensign, your shift is over. Get some rest. That’s an order.”

=/\=

The sudden, intense wail of the red alert klaxon causes the Captain’s head to snap upright. Harry winces as Janeway’s hand rises to cradle her neck. She blinks and then brushes strands of auburn hair from bloodshot eyes. Tuvok’s voice carries over the comm.

“Captain to the Bridge.”

Janeway looks from Chakotay to the door and then to Harry.

“On my way.”

She beckons the loitering Ensign. “Stay with him. I want to be informed of any change in his condition. Immediately. “

Mutely Harry nods but unconvinced, Janeway steps closer, so close that he can feel the light huff of her exasperation on his cheek.

“I have to go. But I want you to call me if you think… If you think he’s going to….” She looks so intently at Harry that he doesn’t breathe. “Do you understand? I have to be here if-”

“I understand.” Harry interrupts, and her gaze falls once more to Chakotay before she marches, heavy-footed from the room.

=/\=

It is just shy of four hours later when his Captain returns. Crossing the threshold Janeway’s stride is purposeful, if half her standard speed. Her hair is in disarray and her uniform littered with patches of sweat and grime. Briefly, she rests one hand against the wall, gathering strength, before almost running towards Harry. The now vacant biobed causing an expression of pure horror to form on her face.

“He’s going to be okay,” Harry blurts, earning a sour look from the approaching EMH.

“As Mr Kim so adroitly put it,” the Doctor rallies, his words coated with a dripping sarcasm, “I expect the Commander to make a full recovery following the transplant.”

Janeway aims a near murderous glare at the hologram. “You told me a transplant wasn’t an option.”

The doctor bridles. “It wasn’t when we last spoke. We tried to contact you on the bridge, but the comm system was down.”

“What the Doc means,” Harry cuts in before the Doctor experiences the full force of the Captain’s rapidly increasing wrath, “is that the Commander only had a transplant because we miscounted.”

He holds up a PADD. “Crewman Biddle recently transferred from Security to Engineering. The Engineering department thought he was screened with the Security team and vice versa. I re-checked the crew count and-”

Janeway spins on her heel, bright azure eyes darkening to sapphire with concern. 

“The crewman?”

The Doctor shrugs. “He’ll be spending Christmas in sickbay. He’ll need a prolonged period of recuperation while his liver regenerates, but otherwise, he too will make a full recovery.”

Taking a shaky step backwards, Janeway’s lumbar spine finds the bulkhead, the colour draining from her face.

“What were the odds?” Her murmur barely audible. “Of finding a match?”

“Approximately fifteen thousand, four hundred and forty-seven point two, to one.” The Doctor chips in. “Now if you’ve finished using my highly sophisticated matrix as a run of the mill calculator, I have patients to attend to.”

Ignoring the barb, Janeway takes a deep breath before sliding slowly down the wall, knees curling into her chest. Harry drops to one knee beside her as biting her lip, she raises her palm to her forehead. Tugging the hypospray from his pocket, he offers it within an open palm. Janeway swallows, squinting at the drug before to his surprise tilting her head. Harry freezes for a second, before reaching over to press the hypospray gently against the pale skin of her neck. Inhaling and then exhaling through gently pursed lips, the captain allows her head to rest back and her shoulders to relax. After a minute, her forehead smooths and the lines around her mouth ease. A minute more and a flicker of something bright is back in her eyes, along with a hint of rose to the apples of her cheeks. 

She turns to face him. “Have the crew gather in the Mess Hall. I’d like to give them the good news about the Commander myself.”

Harry stands, extending his hand. With a rueful smile, Janeway accepts the gentle tug to her feet. Smoothing her uniform, she presses her fingertips against swollen eyelids.

“I’ll freshen up and be along directly.”

Harry shares her emerging smile. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

=/\=

Kathryn stands at Chakotay’s bedside in an eerily quiet sickbay. His breathing is calm and regular, the jaundiced hues have started to fade. The hand in hers is now reassuringly warm. Gone are the rattling breaths, the paper-thin skin that he clawed at even while unconscious and the icy fingers that vice-like gripped her heart. His eyes open and he blinks her into focus.

“Welcome back. You gave us quite a scare.”

A small, slightly sleepy smile. “That’s usually…. my line.”

The Captain takes a long shuddering inhalation and Chakotay folds his fingers around her hand.

“I’m okay, Kathryn.”

She nods as he tries, largely unsuccessfully and with a soft moan, to lift his head and shoulders. Shaking her head lightly, she presses him back against the bed. 

“Take it easy, you’ve had a rough ride.”

Allowing his head to fall back, his gaze drops to her other hand. “An angel?”

Kathryn regards the small golden face peeking through the top of her still tightly clasped fist with an expression akin to pure surprise. One by one, she uncurls her fingers, holding the figurine up to the light. Closing her hand, she offers him a promise and the beginnings of a relieved smile.

“Get some rest Chakotay, I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.”

Chakotay manages to turn his head far enough to watch Kathryn walk slowly away. His memory is decidedly hazy and quite what transpired between the end of the trade talks and waking up back aboard Voyager will apparently have to wait. Halfway across the room, she stops beside another prone figure. From his vantage point, he is unable to make out who else is destined to spend their Christmas in sickbay, but Kathryn leans forward and places the angel at the head of the bed. As she disappears into the corridor, Chakotay allows his eyes to close. From his office, come the melodious strains of the Doctor’s voice.

“Angels we have heard on high  
Sweetly singing on the plains  
And the mountains in reply  
Echoing their joyous strains.

Gloria, in excelsis Deo  
Gloria, in excelsis Deo”


End file.
